


After All These Years

by AlElizabeth



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 12:13:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9384557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlElizabeth/pseuds/AlElizabeth
Summary: After all these years Sam and Dean are still together.





	

"Good morning, Dean," Kelly's voice called from the doorway to his room, "Time to get up."

The old man who had once been a hunter opened his green eyes and peered up at the ceiling for a moment.

"How are you feeling today?" Kelly asked, now right at his bedside, ready to help him with his morning routine.

"Sore," Dean commented, "But I've had worse."

Kelly nodded and helped the elderly man sit up and dangle his feet at the side of the bed.

"The nurse will be here soon to give you your painkillers," she told him and Dean nodded, waving one arthritic hand dismissively.

"What's the weather like today?" Dean asked as Kelly gathered the supplies together for a partial bath.

"It's supposed to be really warm out," the young woman replied, "Around seventy degrees by this afternoon."

Dean nodded and allowed Kelly to help him take his shirt off. Handing the old hunter the warm cloth, Kelly waited as the man had washed the parts he could reach before assisting him with those he couldn't.

Once that was finished, Kelly slid open the door to his closet to reveal a selection of slacks- he was unfortunately too old for blue jeans anymore- and plaid button up shirts.

"Are you in the mood for anything in particular?" she asked and Dean gave a lopsided smile.

"Surprise me."

Kelly picked out a pair of beige slacks and a grey and green plaid shirt. After putting these in the bathroom, she returned and helped Dean into his socks and shoes.

Grabbing the old man's walker, Kelly positioned it in front of him and held it tightly as he stood.

"I'll be back in a few minutes," she told him, "Then I'll help you get dressed."

Dean nodded absentmindedly, the routine engrained into his mind.

Alone, Dean made his way slowly into the bathroom and stared at his reflection in the mirror for a long time.

He had never planned on getting this old. Had never even thought it was possible. And yet, here he was at eighty-five years old, riddled with arthritis but somehow much sprier than many of the younger seniors in the home. He guessed it was his hunter lifestyle, the need to constantly be in peak physical health that helped him age well.

His green eyes were not as bright as they used to be, sunken slightly into a face careworn and wrinkled.

Looking down at his toothbrush and paste, Dean was glad he still had all his teeth.

Still had most of his hair too, come to that, not as much as Sam, but he wasn't complaining.

He picked up his comb and carefully brushed the white fluff on top of his head.

Smiling at his reflection, Dean spoke, "Still a lady-killer."

"What's that?" a grating voice asked from the doorway of Dean's room and the man cringed.

"Here comes Nurse Ratched," he muttered under his breath and plastered a smile on his face.

"Good morning," Dean greeted through gritted teeth.

The nurse, a plump, doughy woman did not smile back and held out a small paper cup with three different pills inside it.

"Here's your medicine," she told him brusquely.

Dean accepted the medication and took it, washing it down with the small cup of water the nurse handed him.

"You have a good day," Dean called after the woman as she waddled from his room without another word.

Sighing, Dean shook his head and turned back to his reflection in the mirror. Some people just shouldn't be working jobs where they were in contact with others all day.

"Hi," Kelly's sweet voice spoke up as she stepped into the room after the nurse, "I'm back."

"It's about time," Dean grumped jokingly.

The girl smiled and assisted Dean with the last parts of his routine.

W

Dressed, clean and ready for the day, Dean left his room in search of his brother.

Sam lived on the same floor as Dean only because the elder Winchester would raise Hell otherwise. At first the powers that be hadn't been sure it was a good idea, but after watching the brothers interacting, and after seeing what happened if they were separated, they decided that the Winchesters could close by.

Dean began his slow walk down the hallway. The nursing home was nice, he supposed; not that he was an expert in such things. It had dark green carpet in the halls and bedrooms, with laminate that looked like real hardwood in the dining room and lounge area. Along the hallways where the residents' rooms were, armchairs had been set at specific intervals to provide a place to rest for the elderly. The walls were painted a warm cream, with prints of mountains, meadows or beaches to brighten up the place and make it look less institutional.

This morning, as it was every morning, the floor was full of quiet activity; the Nurse making her rounds, Personal Support Workers helping the residents get ready for the day, dietitians in the kitchen preparing breakfast.

Elderly men and women, using canes, walkers, wheelchairs, or powered by their own steam, made their way towards the dining room in anticipation of the first meal of the day.

As Dean entered the lounge area and quickly glanced over the twin leather couches, armchairs and big screen television, he saw that his brother was not among the ladies and gentlemen watching the morning news.

Turning, the old hunter began heading down the hallway kitty-corner to the one where his bedroom was. Dean frowned. If Sam wasn't already out that meant he wasn't having a good day.

To Dean, it seemed as though his brother was having more and more bad days. He knew that was inevitable, but he hated it, hated to think about what it meant.

"'Morning, Dean," a reedy voice spoke up from the wheelchair sitting in front of the nurses' station.

The hunter smiled at the withered woman sitting in the chair.

"Hi Violet," the hunter greeted and ambled over to her.

"Looks like it'll be a beautiful day," the elderly woman wheezed.

At a hundred and two, Violet was the nursing home's oldest resident and one of the most beloved. Even at her extreme age, she continued to knit- her favourite hobby- and almost everyone living and working in the home had one of her scarfs or caps.

"Yeah," Dean agreed, "I'm hoping to get outside with Sammy before it gets too warm."

Violet nodded and smiled, her blue eyes peering out from beneath lids as thin as paper.

"How are you feeling?" the woman asked, reaching out one thin hand to touch Dean's where it rested on his walker.

The hunter lifted one shoulder in a shrug.

"I'm fine," he assured her, "I'm just thinking."

Violet nodded, "Well don't do too much of that, Dean Winchester, or you'll drive yourself crazy."

The old man grinned, "It's too late for that."

Violet grinned back, "See you at breakfast."

Dean nodded and continued on his way down the hallway to his brother's room.

W

Sam's room was shared with another resident- a man in his seventies with severe Parkinson's- so Dean remained outside, sitting on the armchair closest to his sibling's bedroom.

As Dean waited, he tapped his arthritic fingers softly against the handles of his walker, humming the tune to 'Smoke on the Water'.

"Come on Sam," a female voice spoke up from inside the room and the elder Winchester sat up a little straighter in the armchair, "Let's see if Dean's waiting for you."

Dean stood up and stepped forward, smiling, ready to greet his brother.

Joyce, holding Sam by the hand, appeared first. She stepped out of the room and smiled at Dean.

"Dean's here!" the Personal Support Worker exclaimed to the younger Winchester as she guided Sam out of his room.

Sam Winchester shuffled slowly into the hallway. His curved spine and stooped shoulders shrinking him drastically, and his long, white hair lay in straggly strands around his face; his expression was one of confusion and anxiety.

Dean stepped forward, "Hey, Sammy."

The younger Winchester's hazel eyes widened and he smiled.

Dean returned the gesture. He noticed however, that his brother was wearing the same clothes he had been the day before.

"There's Dean," Joyce said and held out her hand holding Sam's.

The elder Winchester reached out and took his brother's hand. Dean squeezed his fingers gently, ignoring the pain in his own as he did so.

"What do you say we go get some breakfast?" Dean asked and Sam smiled.

Releasing his sibling's hand, Dean began the slow trek down the hallway once again, Sam following close behind him.

W

Dean carefully pulled Sam's chair out for him and motioned with one hand.

"Sit down, Sammy."

The younger Winchester hesitated, his gaze taking in the dining room now growing crowded with senior citizens waiting for their breakfast. A volunteer was making her way around the room with a cart of tea and coffee for those who wanted it. Personal Support Workers were sitting beside those residents who needed the most help with their meals.

"Sammy," Dean spoke again, drawing his brother's attention.

"Sit down in the chair."

Looking surprised, as though just realizing where he was, Sam did as his brother asked and sat down heavily in the chair.

"D'n," Sam muttered, putting one hand on the table and tapping his fingers.

"Yeah," Dean replied idly as he waited for his breakfast.

"D'n," Sam repeated, continuing to tap his fingers.

"Hm?" Dean muttered, his eyes tracking the movement of the young volunteer, anxious for his coffee.

"D'n."

The Winchester's table companions were a man named George who had been admitted to the nursing home after spending months in the hospital due to a fractured hip and infection and a quiet woman named Chelsea who had had a stroke and was unable to speak.

George grumbled something unintelligible but Dean ignored him.

"D'n," Sam spoke again and this time his brother tore his gaze away from the coffee cart.

"Yeah, Sammy?" he asked, green eyes full of concern.

"When's Dad coming back?"

Dean didn't react. Instead he reached out and patted his brother's hand as it lay on the table.

"Soon, Sammy, he'll be back real soon."

The younger man smiled and fell silent again.

"Coffee or tea, Sir?" the volunteer had finally made it to their table.

"Coffee for me," Dean answered, handing her the plastic maroon mug in front of him, "Black."

The girl, who looked to be in high school, nodded and poured him some coffee from one of the insulated pitchers on the cart.

"For you?" she asked Sam, whom didn't respond, and she frowned slightly.

"He's losing his marbles," George announced loudly, "He won't talk to no one but his big brother."

"He doesn't drink coffee," Dean told the volunteer curtly.

"I'll have tea," George held out his mug for the girl.

"D'n," Sam muttered.

"Sammy," Dean answered.

"When's Dad coming back?"

Dean smiled sadly.

"Soon," he repeated.

Now that George had his tea, he seemed to care less about what the Winchesters were doing and decided to talk poor Chelsea's ear off.

Dean took a sip of his coffee and sighed. It wasn't the best coffee he'd ever had but it did the trick.

As he waited for breakfast, Dean's mind began to wander, travelling in a direction he didn't like.

They were only here because Dean couldn't take care of his younger brother on his own any more. He had tried- he'd tried like mad to make sure his brother was fed and drank enough water and was clean and as happy as possible. But it had been getting harder and harder as they grew older, especially with the arthritis. Dean hadn't wanted to leave the Bunker- the only home they had known for years- but he just couldn't cope any more. Sam was in the middle stage of dementia- Alzheimer's to be exact- and needed more care than his brother could provide, though Dean hated to admit it. Now that the disease was progressing towards its later- and final stage- Dean realized he had made the right decision, however difficult, to move into the nursing home.

The doctors Dean had spoken to hadn't been able to say exactly what had caused his brother's dementia but if he had to guess, the elder Winchester would say that it was probably a result of all the times Sam had hit his head while on a hunt or been strangled by someone or even some latent effect from being in the Cage for eighteen months for all he knew.

Dean hadn't noticed anything wrong at first. Even as he and Sam grew older, his brother was always smart as a whip, until the days when he'd go out for groceries and come back with two cartons of eggs when they already had four or when he would forget the names of some of their good friends or he wouldn't remember where he left his wallet or his phone or the keys to the Impala.

At first it had been okay for a while, Dean could work around his sibling's failing memory, but then Sam started to get into trouble, even dangerous situations. He'd leave the oven on or wander around the Bunker at night, without turning on the lights; he'd even been in a minor accident while driving- which led to the loss of his license- which terrified Dean.

Confined to the Bunker, Sam grew passive and disinterested in the things he normally enjoyed. He stopped reading and his laptop only gathered dust on his desk. He slept long hours and ate little. Sam refused to bathe or change his clothes and began experiencing terrible nightmares.

Unsure of what to do, Dean had gone back to the doctors and did something he never thought he'd do: he asked for help. He could see his sibling deteriorating and it frightened him. He couldn't lose Sam, not like this.

So Dean had swallowed his pride and took the doctors' advice: he had moved Sam into the nursing home.

But he had also moved with him. No way was he going to force his brother to live with a bunch of strangers and only visit when it was convenient for him. Besides, his arthritis wasn't getting any better.

After moving into the nursing home, Sam had seemed to be improving. He started eating again and he allowed the Personal Support Workers to give him a bath and he seemed to be sleeping more.

But then came the incident with the salt.

Every table in the dining room had a small cup of salt and pepper packets for anyone who needed them with their meals. Shortly after arriving at the nursing home, within a few weeks, the packets of salt began to disappear. No resident or employee confessed to taking them but they continued to vanish just as quickly as they were replenished.

Then, six weeks after coming to the nursing home, Sam was found with lines of salt in the doorway and on the windowsills on both his side and his neighbour's side of their shared room. Sam had been stealing the packets of salt until he had enough to create the salt lines.

Dean closed his eyes as he remembered Sam's reaction when one of the nurses- Nurse Ratched, in fact- had swept away his carefully placed lines of salt. Dean thought he was going to strangle the woman.

"Dean," a voice brought the old hunter back to the present and he looked up to see Kelly holding a plate and bowl.

"Oatmeal, bacon, scrambled eggs and white toast," the Personal Support Worker recited the menu and Dean nodded. It was the same thing every day; the way the eggs were cooked might differ, but it was always the same four items.

"Sam's is coming in a moment," she told him as she sat down the breakfast.

"Thanks," the hunter forced himself to smile, trying to shake off the dregs of the unpleasant memories, and turned his attention to his brother.

"Breakfast's coming in a minute, Sammy," he told his brother before taking another sip of his coffee.

Every resident was given a selection of cold beverages at each meal; for breakfast the choices were orange juice, milk, water and tomato juice.

Dean reached across his plate and picked up the small, clear plastic cup of milk in front of his brother and placed it in his hand.

Sam raised the cup of milk and took a sip. Dean smiled. Once his brother lowered the glass of milk, Dean set it on the table again.

"Here's Sam's," Kelly told the Winchesters and carefully sat the plate and bowl in front of the younger man.

Dean nodded his thanks and picked up a slice of toast.

"Why don't you have some of this while the rest cools down?"

Sam obediently took the piece of toast and munched on it slowly, his gaze a million miles away.

Dean wondered what his brother was thinking about as he began to eat his own breakfast.

W

Finishing his second cup of coffee, Dean glanced out the window in the dining room and smiled.

It was indeed a beautiful day.

He couldn't wait to go sit outside with his brother for a while. Sam sat quietly beside him, a contented expression on his face.

Standing up and pushing his chair out of the way, Dean grabbed his walker and took the brakes off.

"C'mon Sammy," he encouraged, "Let's go outside and get some fresh air."

Reaching out, he touched his sibling's arm and the younger man stood.

Without another word, Dean began making his way out of the dining room and towards the door that led to the courtyard.

Pushing the door open with one hand and holding his walker with the other, Dean waited until Sam had stepped outside before he followed.

The courtyard was cement-paved with flourishing gardens all around its outer ring, two fountains splashed water high into the air and there were benches like those found at public parks and a larger table with a half-dozen chairs around in the centre of the yard. A wide sun umbrella protruding from the middle of the table provided shade.

Dean and Sam walked over to one of the benches and sat down. The sun was warm but the breeze was still cool.

The elder Winchester leaned his head back and closed his eyes, enjoying the moment.

Looking over at his sibling, Dean smiled when Sam slipped one hand into his.

Glancing at Dean from the corner of his eye, the younger brother smiled slightly.

**Author's Note:**

> his story is based on a prompt asking for writers to imagine the characters as elderly. The prompt asked writers to think about where the characters were as senior citizens, what they were like, etc.
> 
> The original characters of Kelly and Joyce are Personal Support Workers who assist residents living in nursing, retirement homes and in the community with daily activities such as getting ready for the day, eating and using the toilet. I am currently in school to become a Personal Support Worker and so I needed to definitely include them in my story. I am not sure what Personal Support Workers are called in other countries so if you know, let me know!
> 
> I am not at doctor. The things I know about Dementia and Alzheimer's comes from my textbook, my classes, and the experience I have had with men and women who have this disease. I do not mean to offend anyone by writing about this topic and take it very seriously.


End file.
